American Sniper - Boekje Pienter

13
Mortality
BLIND
It seemed like every dog in Sadr City was barking.
I scanned the darkness through my night vision, tense as we made
our way down one of the nastiest streets in Sadr City. We walked past
a row of what might have been condos in a normal city. Here they
were little better than rat-infested slums. It was past midnight in early
April 2008, and, against all common sense but under direct orders, we
were walking into the center of an insurgent hellhole.
Like a lot of the other drab-brown buildings on the street, the
house we were heading to had a metal grate in front of the door. We
lined up to breach it. Just then, someone appeared from behind the
grate at the door and said something in Arabic.
Our interpreter stepped over and told him to open up.
The man inside said he didn’t have a key.